“I guess I’m killed,” replied the bewildered Bunk, slowly climbing to his feet, “or mebbe it were a mule dat kicked me. Hab yo’ got a mule round here?”
“Fool!” exclaimed the Professor angrily, “didn’t you know better than to go groping round the shop in the darkness? It is a miracle that you were not killed by a thousand volts; why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t see yo’ nowhere ’bout; ’scuse me.”
“If you had called I should have heard you. I was asleep like yourself.”
“I didn’t hear yo’ breeving; I say, Perfesser,” added Bunk with more boldness than he had yet dared to show, “ain’t yo’ keerless in leaving dem blue blazes layin’ ’round where dey am likely to swipe a feller in de face when he ain’t doing nuffin?”
“You surely will be killed if you go nosing round the shop when I’m not with you.”
“Yo’ war wid me but I didn’t know it. I say, Perfesser, wouldn’t yo’ as lieb move to some oder place?”
The inventor in front of the trembling Bunk still looked keenly at him, as if a new thought had flashed into his brain. He spoke with more kindness than he had shown since they had been together:
“Bohunkus, I’m satisfied that this isn’t the place for you, though I shall have to stay myself until we are ready to start. To-morrow I shall take you to new quarters.”
“Dat am de best news I’ve heerd in sebenteen years; dere’s only one thing dat would soot me better.”